The Good, The Bad and The Ugly
by YaoiCookie
Summary: After the defeat of Voldemort, Harry heads over to France to have a bit of time to himself. Between the pestering of his friends, fans and well wishers, he ends up in Paris and has a chance encounter with a beautiful woman at a bar.


**WARNING WARNING WARNING!**

I am not French, never been to France, and am generally clueless as to how the hotel in the fic actually is on the inside. I've only seen pictures of it and read reviews about it, wouldn't know how it works or anything of the like. HOWEVER, I said to myself; "Hell, this is fanfiction. I don't have to be completely accurate!" **I know** that the bs that happens in this story would never happen in real life, just like **you all know** that Harry Potter isn't real, and if he was, there would be little to no chance of him meeting the characters from Paradise Kiss, because **they don't exist either.**

In other words, if you have a problem with **anything** that happens in this fic, you only have a few options. **One,** let me know the problem and a solution to substitute it. **Two,** hit the back button and never bother with this fic again. **Three,** shrug it off and keep going because the rest of the fic is to your liking. Or **four,** get over it. :D

* * *

The first time Harry saw her, he thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

Only months had passed by since the final defeat of Voldemort. People were still grieving, himself included, after the deaths that the mass of chaos caused. Free from the obligations, Harry found himself at a loss of what to do. For a time he'd lived with the Weasley's at The Burrow, but the house was too silent and oppressive without the explosions and laughter, too defeated with the sobbing of a mother day after day. He hadn't even gotten over his depression enough to talk to Ginny, to see where their relationship stood.

He wasn't sure if he could give her an honest answer.

Not then, with the wounds too fresh, too raw. Living in that house reminded him of all the good things, yet, also all the things that would no longer happen. Could he live in such a house with Ginny? Could he, when the only thing that he would remember is laughter and days that would no longer be? He needed time to heal, he decided, following after Bill and Fleur and ignoring those eyes on his back. He needed time to think; away from Hogwarts, The Burrow, the magical world and the memories of the good, the bad and the ugly.

"How long?" Ginny questioned him, her hand on his arm stopping him before he could use the floo.

"Enough to heal," he muttered, not looking at her even when she stood in front of him. He didn't want to see what he knew would be there; sadness, confusion, understanding even? Finally, with a depressed sigh she moved away from him, letting him follow after her brother with his head down.

The first month had not been smooth sailing.

Staying as a guest in the Delacour home, thanks to the kindness of Fleur and her parents, the first month turned out to be more trouble than it was worth. For one, Harry had forgotten the crush that the young Gabrielle had on him, though Ginny certainly hadn't. Insecure, his redheaded lover had shown up daily, constantly interrupting the healing process he wanted. Then there were the Delacour's themselves; He was sure that Fleur had pure intentions, but her parents seemed determined to set him up with their youngest. Appalled at their actions (she was only eleven for Circe's sake!), Harry packed up in the middle of the night and ran off, buying a Portkey that took him to a place called Port-en-Bessin, where he eventually found a hotel for the night.

The hotel was decidedly fancy, something that he would never have gotten; he'd even had to dress smartly just to get in. With that in mind he made sure to go to it despite the price, knowing that a place as high class as Chateau La Cheneviere would be overlooked in any sudden search for him. He was only able to spend two nights there before had to leave, spotted by some students from Beauxbatons as he gazed in amazement upon the view of the rose gardens, and was once again on the run for peace and quiet, and the healing he was hoping to have from the beginning. Lost in France, Harry finally decided to head to the only place that he had ever heard of from the majestic place, Paris.

Hôtel de Crillon was a place he was waved to by a person on the street, one who remarked a fantastic view of Champs-Élysées and Place de la Concorde, with free internet and other things that completely flew by his head. With a heart heavy of shame and embarrassment at his ignorance he booked a one month stay at the gorgeous hotel, five stars or so he'd been told. Laying in a plush bed, he reflected everything that he was currently feeling.

He knew, without a doubt, that he had yet to heal. He hadn't remotely enjoyed himself in the months since the end of Voldemort, hadn't even had the chance to rest. And, he mused darkly, as long as people constantly recognized him then he would never have peace and quiet. With a sigh, he turned over and pillowed his arms beneath his head, knowing what he had to do but hating to admit it. He would have to discard his name, his image, for a time; go in disguise through the streets. Despite himself he couldn't dredge up any excitement for the thought; he was, is and would always be Harry Potter, but as long as he thought that then people would only see the Boy Who Lived.

"I need a drink," he muttered, standing and quickly putting on a less rumpled set of clothing. Just for the night he wanted to remain Harry, but by damn if he would be going as a boy. He was a man now, no matter what anyone said. Irritation welled up within him as he secured his ID in his pocket, knowing that without it he would be denied; there were perks, however, with being a hero, especially when the Queen had heard of his situation. Thankfully someone saw him as an adult, unlike everyone else who constantly tried to hold his hand through everything.

Muggles, he found out simply minutes later, had a strange way of naming drinks. Still, he decided to have one of everything on the list much and personal drinks that weren't on the list ("Anything you can think of, I'm willing to try."), much to the bartender's enjoyment. As he sat there he brooded, wondering at what to do with himself. A change in hair color, perhaps? He was rather fond of the color red, he mused, fingering his locks. Maybe lengthen it a bit? He'd already changed his clothing so that wasn't a problem, he'd simply dress the exact opposite of what he was use to. Perhaps a new pair of glasses, too; but people knew what he looked like with glasses on, so contacts? Ah, but he didn't want to change his eyes. No, he let out a sigh, he didn't want to change anything about himself.

It was as he put what the barkeep called a "Slippery Nipple" to his lips that she came in.

Tall, graceful, gorgeous; Harry was sure that he wasn't the only one who'd stopped to stare. Around her left eye was a drawn, tattooed?, purple flower and a light dusting of purple eye shadow, with red pert lips that surprisingly matched. Her hair was bundled up with two long locks hanging at the sides of her face. With a heavy blush, Harry realized he was staring and quickly turned back to his drink. She was beautiful, the most beautiful woman that he'd ever seen. And, he forced the blush to recede, she was sitting next to him.

Glares were tossed his way, glares that rolled off of him as he focused on his drink; he had more pressing matters to think of than the beauty sitting beside him. Even if he wanted to simply drink in that perfume that wafted from her, or look at the expanse of thigh that showed from the split of her dress and…Harry stiffened, resisting the urge to shake his head. Beautiful though she was, Ginny was still waiting for him back home and he really did have other things to deal with. He pinched his nose with a sigh as he forcibly dragged his mind back to more pressing matters.

Disguises; he needed one.

"Damn annoying that," he muttered, downing his drink and waving the bartender to bring him another. Fingering his locks he tried to picture himself with red hair again and failed, instead envisioning a rather fetching purple. He bit back a frustrated sigh, knowing that he would get no other thinking done as long as the smell of lilacs tickled his nose. However, he'd already paid for all of his drinks, so he was going no where. With a wrinkle of his nose he decided to focus on other tasks that he wanted to do; like sight seeing. Or rather, learning to live like a Muggle. A slow smile came to his lips as he thought it over.

No magic, no fights, no tabloids, no remembering; for once he just wanted to be a normal person amongst the crowd. And, he downed a Snow Cap and waved the bartender to him again, this time he would get the chance to do it. The woman beside him shifted as his pocket vibrated, wiping the smile from his lips as he gave a dejected sigh. With thinly veiled disgust he picked the cell phone from his pocket, knowing only one person who would actually know how to reach the one thing he'd allowed himself to buy for them to keep contact. Hermione's number flashed for a while and he let it, wincing when he saw that he'd missed four hundred sixty two calls.

She must have taught the others how to use a phone.

The phone rang again and he accepted the call, sitting the phone on the bar instead of putting it to his ears as he knew what was to come. Sure enough, the moment the connection went through a very loud berating followed. "Harry James Potter where the hell are you?! Do you have any idea-?!" He put his head on his hand and absently swirled his drink as he waited for the words to swell down, flushing a bit as the bartender raised a brow at him.

"Girlfriend?" He questioned.

"Sister," he stated ruefully, chuckling as the man winced.

"Harry? Harry?!"

"I'm here, Hermione," he sat up, putting the phone to his ear and closing his eyes as the brief amusement faded. "What?"

"Drop that tone, Harry," she snapped. "Where on earth have you been?! I've been trying to get in contact with you for days! When you didn't answer I thought-we thought-!" Immediately, a hint of guilt bubbled within his chest.

"I'm very much alive," he stated softly. "And I apologize for worrying you." She sniffled as he waved for another drink. "I had my phone packed away as I made a tactical retreat from the Delacour family." He gave a bitter chuckle. "And because I know you're wondering, I left when I woke up with their daughter in my bed."

"Oh, Harry-!"

"I didn't sleep with her," he scoffed, quickly downing his drink before he could snap at her and slamming the glass down in agitation. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't bother to jump to conclusions before you hear what I have to say, Hermione." This time there wasn't a hint of guilt when he heard her suck in a shaky breath. "I said that I wanted to be left alone for the month," he continued, more harshly than he wanted. "Instead I get constant visits from Ginny and two parents who were more than happy to throw around their eleven year old daughter at me like I'm some sort of pedophile, then my sister in everything but blood starts accusing me of the same!"

"I'm sor-"

"Of course you are," he interrupted waspishly, massaging his head. Any other day he would have tried to control himself, but his mouth always got the better of him when he was drunk. "Let me guess, you want me to come home and heal while I watch you all enjoy your lives and magically make up with Ginny so we can all be one big, happy, dysfunctional family, right?" A broken sob was his answer, though he was far from through. "I told you that I didn't want to be bothered; I told you that I would call you-"

"Harry, please-!"

"-And that if I was in any trouble I would give you a call straight away," he continued on, wincing as his next drink burned his throat. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you get straight to what the hell it is you want to say so I can go back to _trying_ to enjoy my life!" Silence, a long silence stretched across the end of the line before a far less confident Hermione answered him.

"I just want to know when you're coming home," she sniffled. Harry muttered a curse and pulled the phone away from his ear, hanging up without bothering to answer and slapping the phone on the counter. A second of glaring at it later and it began to ring again. In seconds he had it in his hand, only to snap it apart and toss it to the garbage halfway across the room. Once again he took to massaging his head as he continued to swear at himself. Couldn't he just escape for one moment? Just for one single moment have a life free of obligations?

Because no one cared if he was happy, just wanted him there with them. As grateful as he was to be loved and cared for, he was not a child. He could and had always been taking care of himself and he did not need nor want someone to hold his hand so that they could make sure he was okay. It did not matter if he wasn't happy; as far as they were concerned, as long as he was alive that was good enough for them.

"Are you okay?" The feel of a delicate, silk wrapped hand touched his arm, making him relax as the intoxicating scent of lilacs invaded his nostrils again. Lifting his head he took in the sight of the gorgeous woman in purple, her face creased in worry making a fluttery feel start up in his stomach. Forcing down a blush he turned back to his drink and gave a sharp nod, feeling a bit guilty with himself for enjoying that simple encounter more than he probably should have.

"I'm less angry than I seem," he admitted with a sigh, unwilling to let their conversation drop despite himself. "My mouth gets the best of me when I drink."

"I see," she smiled, making his heart thump violently. "You'll probably be very angry with yourself when you realize that you broke your phone tomorrow." Her voice was smooth, velvety, flowery and a whole slew of other things that Harry didn't want to think of as he felt himself jumping to attention.

"I doubt it," he snorted, quickly taking a swig of his, he forced back a blush as the bartender winked at him, Shuddering Orgasm. "If anything I'll be happy; I never had the courage to do it when I was sober." He inspected his glass in thought, sighing as a man entered the room and froze at the sight of him. The man, dressed chic, quickly made his way over and sat at the seat beside him, sending glances to him and making him bite back a sigh. "Yeah, I'll have to go out in disguise," he mused, turning inwards and ignoring the obvious wizard. "They'll never leave me alone if I come out without one."

"Disguise, huh?" That beautiful voice once again pulled him to the outside world, making him shudder slightly. Looking at her, Harry smiled, forcing himself to look into her grey eyes and not on her lush lips.

"It won't be too hard," he stated. "Just do everything that I don't normally do."

"Oh?" Her lips curved as she tilted her head, batting long lashes in a blink. Harry willed himself to shut up, for once regretting drinking so much. It was funny, really; normally, he was an awkward and introverted person, but get him drunk and he was an aristocrat. _"It's the Pure-blood within you,"_ George, having snuck him his first drink, had snorted.

"I'm usually in baggy clothes," he admitted. "Large, ugly things; I stay away from the rich, thrive in being, or at least trying to be normal." He took another sip of his drink. "Of course, when I try to be normal I get stared at, so I figure if I act like everyone thinks I should then they'll walk right by me." She chuckled and he shifted, swearing at himself mentally as the drink officially took over and he held out a hand. "The name's Harry. Harry Potter." The man beside him sucked in a deep breath, nearly making him wince as he'd forgotten about him.

"Isabella Yamamoto," she gave him a quirk of her lips as he kissed her hand, unable to stop himself. "A pleasure to meet you, Harry." _A beautiful name for a beautiful woman,_ he mused to himself, giving her his own little smile even as annoyance slipped onto his face when the man beside him stood up and bowed to him.

"Oh, I don't believe it," he began, making Isabella blink curiously as he quickly grabbed Harry's hand and shook it rapidly, making the young wizard turn to him and grit his teeth. "When I saw the name in the books I had thought-but then I believed it couldn't possibly be-but when I saw you-" He babbled, standing with a beaming smile on his face. "Sir Potter, it is a great honor to see you within my halls!" Harry, having been prepared to say something rude, snapped his mouth closed with a click as the words passed through his mind. _His halls; owner; don't want to get on his bad side._

"Thank you," he stated instead, giving a small quirk of his lips even as resentment bubbled up within him. Every second talking to this _moron_ was less time with Isabella; and wasn't that simply sad that he desperately wanted to continue speaking to her even with Ginny waiting at home? But no, he wouldn't betray Ginny like that; but he could at least look and admire and dream, couldn't he? "I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone that I'm here," Harry stated, looking at the wizard imploringly.

"Oh, of course not, Sir Potter!" He chuckled joyously, once again pumping his hand. "After all you've done, after everything you've been through, I swear upon my mother's grave, bless her, that you have my full confidence!" Isabella raised a brow, putting a drink to her lips and curiously staring between the two. "I-I hope you don't mind," the man put a hand to his head sheepishly. "I wish to refund you every penny that you've paid here."

"Sir, there's no need-" Harry protested, keeping the anger from his voice just so. Couldn't the man see the gorgeous person sitting beside him?

"You called me sir," the fan stated, reminding Harry eerily of a certain House-Elf and making him stutter to a stop. "Please, Sir Potter," with a sniffle of joy, he bowed once again. "It is an honor to serve you after what you have done for us; I'll have your money sent up to your room once you go back and please, feel free to use anything here free of charge. Oh, wondrous, joyous…" His words trailed off as he gleefully made his way out of the room, leaving a slightly embarrassed and peeved Harry to turn to his two curious watchers. The bartender raised a brow at him and gave an impressed whistle, though Isabella merely curved her lips in a smile.

"We were talking about disguises," she said, and Harry could have kissed her for not making a big deal out of such a thing. Less than an hour later the bartender refused to serve him any more drinks, much to his annoyance, though the man's worrying of alcohol poisoning was the only reason why he didn't bother to curse up a storm. Isabella had given him good advice for disguises, much to his surprise, though he really didn't want to dress as a woman like she suggested. After twenty minutes of gentle arguing he finally conceded the point that no one would think to look for him in drag. Now, however, they were arguing about what it was that he should wear.

Had it been anyone else Harry would have been peeved and kicked a fuss, obstinately ignoring any conversation about him wearing a dress, let alone talking about hair colors and dyes he needed to try. Though slightly embarrassed, he forced himself not to think too much on discussing becoming a trans with such a beautiful woman. After all, he wasn't planning on sleeping with her or anything, because he had Ginny. That's right, Ginny. His fiery redhead who looked absolutely _nothing_ like Isabella. And who didn't make him smile nearly as much. And who looked far too much like his mother than should be legally allowed.

Harry forced down a wince.

Ah, hell, who was he kidding? He loved Ginny, he truly did, but there were times when he sat down and looked at her and saw a smiling Lily Potter instead. It had disturb him on more than one occasion, the main reason he could never bring himself to take that final step in their relationship. Even after all the time and money and fame, Harry Potter was still a virgin, much to Ginny's disgruntlement.

"I think you would be a great redhead," Isabella mused, tapping glove covered manicured nails against the tabletop. "Maybe a few curls; you could certainly keep your eyes uncovered then. However, I think you should vie for a pair of uncolored contacts; who would think that you'd give up your lenses, after all…" The last word was stretched a bit as her eyes darted to the door, seeing a blue haired, blue eyed man enter boisterously. Harry felt a bit of resentment well up as her face lit, though mostly there was a strange sense of relief.

"Your boyfriend?" He wondered, hoping that such was the case. After all, a gorgeous woman like her couldn't possibly be single. It certainly wasn't because he'd have a reason to back off if she had someone; most certainly not.

"George, my boyfriend?" Isabella chuckled in amusement. "Not at all." Harry twitched, feeling a swell of dread overwhelm the bit of happiness that bubbled up within his chest. Resolutely he ignored the feelings, squashing them down and ignoring them, because nothing would ever come from his encounter with the beautiful Isabella.

_Nothing._

"Isabella, love; have you waited long?" George chuckled, taking off his hat as he walked over to her.

"Not at all, George," she beamed at him. "I've had company whilst I waited for you."

"Oh?" The man stopped, staring at Harry with an unreadable look in his eyes. Harry stared back at him with a smile, shaking his hand when it was offered and introductions were given. "A disguise, you say?" George blinked a while later, putting a drink to his lips that Harry glared at.

"I think red hair would be best," Isabella mused. "Well, that or blonde; otherwise he'll need colored lenses if he doesn't want his eyes to stand out so much."

"No blonde," the wizard shuddered. Something about blondes made him sick to his stomach. Maybe because it reminded him of the Delacour family? Or worse, Malfoy? Worse still, the Dursleys? A scowl twisted his lips. "Definitely no blonde. Ah, but red reminds me of my mother…and Ginny," he sighed, thumping his head on the table. Isabella and George stared at him in amusement. "Is it really so bad for my eyes to stand out?" He wondered.

"Well, considering you're trying for camouflage…" George trailed off, a look coming to his eyes as he suddenly leaned over and lifted Harry's chin. After an uncomfortable moment of silence he took off the wizard's glasses. "Then again, it's practically murder to let such gorgeous eyes be covered up." Harry blinked in confusion, before gently prying the man's hand off of his face and taking back his glasses.

"So then, I don't need different color?" Isabella gave a dainty chuckle as the blue haired man looked put out. Harry merely blinked in confusion, wiping his glasses off and putting them back on. "I-maybe I should…?" He trailed off, realizing that he was feeling decidedly sober as he began to flounder and-and _notice_ things previously missed. Ah, the curses of magic. "You know, I really like the flower over your eye, Isabella," he admitted suddenly, getting a blush from the woman in question. "If I have to be a woman, then I want to look as good as you do." There, he'd said it. He'd told her that he thought she was beautiful before the booze wore off and he couldn't see her again. Isabella smiled widely at the compliment.

"Thank you, Harry," she purred. The wizard forced the blush from his face, forced that possessive little voice inside of him that use to come around Ginny away, and smiled back.

"Do you mind if I use you as a model for my own design then?"

"Not at all."

"Oh, good." With a relieved sigh and a disappointed air he stood, stretching out a bit. "Isabella, George, thank you for your time and advice today."

"You're leaving already?" George frowned slightly. Harry scratched at his cheek.

"Well, I was intruding on you two; you did come here to talk, right?" The two in question blinked, obviously having forgotten the reason they had come in the first place. "Besides, I have to get ready to go…shopping tomorrow." He shuddered at the thought, blushing just the slightest at thinking about going through the women's section. Hmm, but the owner was a wizard, so maybe he wouldn't have to buy makeup when he could ask the man to get some books of spells for women…And now that he was sobering up, it didn't seem like such a good idea anymore. That settled it then, he would have to get drunk in the morning before going out. "Good night, Isabella, George."

"Good night, Harry," Isabella responded with a smile. George kissed his hand before saying it. Raising a brow, Harry calmly took it back and stared at him, before turning and walking away.

"I'm not a dame yet," he snorted, smiling as Isabella let out a delightful laugh. The moment he was out of there, however, the smile dropped, replaced by a face full of relief and regret. Relief, because the lingering smell of lilacs were finally away from him and his blood could finally calm. Regret, because he knew, _knew_ that Ginny would be waiting for nothing now that Isabella was on his mind. With a bitter chuckle he recalled a conversation he'd once had with Remus; The werewolf once said that he'd developed his father's taste for redheads after he confessed his feelings about Ginny.

Thinking of Isabella, Harry could now see that he was wrong; he rather thought he'd developed his father's taste for flowers instead.


End file.
